


With The Right Motivation

by nippa56



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nippa56/pseuds/nippa56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Hardy is a bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Right Motivation

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Emily for the beta.

So it's like this. Matt Hardy is a pain in the ass. He talks with his mouth full, he's got no class, he's a _hick_ for God's sake. 

You can't quite look at him without remembering him showering you with half eaten pizza, planned storyline though it was. He gets on your very last nerve and there's a high chance that you may actually kill him if he bursts into your hotel room one more time shouting good morning and throwing the curtains open. Especially if he throws cold water on you again. Fucker. It's not like you even had time to get morning wood. 

Anyway. 

The thing is - the thing that _really_ gets you about Matt Hardy - the actual _thing_ is... well. It's like this, Matt is a plebeian bastard, but you can't seem to stop yourself from staring at his lips. Or his arms. And you probably shouldn't get started on the things his neck makes you think about. 

Still, the dumb fucker has the stupidest legs in existence, so it's not like you're infatuated or anything, right?

Right. 

Yeah, okay, so you _might_ have a crush, but to be fair, you've gone six months without a piece of ass and a man only has so much self control. And yes, he doesn't know you prefer cock to pussy, but that doesn't mean he has to _bend over_ in front of you. Because seriously, what self-respecting straight guy does that? Bastard. 

And it's not like you care if he knows you're into guys, but he's got a bad habit of starting with the prison jokes after three Budweisers (fucking lightweight) and the last thing you want is to give him a little bit more ammunition or, God forbid, encouragement. You don't think you could stand the drunken gay prison jokes. It's only by the force of Allah that you haven't smacked him yet. 

But that's not the point. The point is that Matt Hardy is a pain in the ass. 

You've written lists to back yourself up and you're not even pretending that you don't carry them around with you anymore. If anyone wants to know what a complete bastard Matt is, then you're determined to have the damn proof. 

Of course, it doesn't help that his dopey brother is kind of endearing in an unfathomable way. Weird little fucker. And he hero worships Matt even if he won't admit it, which means if you want to talk to Jeff at a PPV, then Matt is usually there too. 

And Shannon seems to think Matt's some kind of second coming, to the point where you're really not sure that the MF'er gimmick was actually a gimmick. Which means you have no end of headaches, now that you've been forced to travel with both of them. Your patience could bend steel. You've probably reached Sainthood in a dozen religions because Shannon's still got his vocals chords and Matt's shit-eating grin isn't flopping around I-93 somewhere. 

Still, it would be best all around if Matt would just _leave you alone_. It's not like you have to be friends or anything. It's not like he has to know what room you're staying in. And it's not like he's got the right to bitch and moan if you don't want to go for a drink, you're not a damn alcoholic. And it's not even like you want to _talk_ to him outside of match strategies. 

If you weren't completely convinced of his eventual elevation to the Pain in the Ass Hall of Fame you'd actually entertain the idea that he might genuinely be trying to be your friend. Well, you might if he wasn't _getting worse_. Matt Hardy amplified really isn't what you deserve, no matter what you did in a past life. 

"Montel!"

And there he is, stupid crooked orbital bone and everything. It's like he's _deliberately_ trying to annoy you. And okay, so maybe you're over reacting a little bit, but right this second that orbital bone has offended you in the worst way. 

"What?!"

Right. So maybe you didn't have to use that tone, because, y'know, it's nice to be nice, but dammit all, you want him and his stupid fucking _face bones_ to go take a jump. And no, you most certainly do _not_ want to lick anything even remotely close to him. So you're going to stop looking at his neck. And his forearms. 

"Hey man, what's up?" He's smiling. Fucker. He could at least _look_ like he heard the tone. He doesn't have to be so fucking _chirpy_ whenever he sees you. 

You scowl at him and he takes it as an invitation to give you a friendly smack on the shoulder and sit down. He elbows you in the ribs and repeats, "What's up?"

You grit your teeth. If he would just stop _touching_ you, this whole possible crush thing would just go away. "Nothing Matt. Nothing's up."

"Cool," he nods. Happy and amiable and you really would be a bad person if you broke the other orbital bone. Really. 

He shifts a little and his shoulder rubs against yours. And okay, seriously, there's a crapload of other chairs around, so _why_ does he have to sit next to you? You clench your jaw and count to ten because Stephanie gets really _intense_ about wrestlers fighting and you're not ashamed to admit that she kind of scares you. 

Well, okay. Maybe you're a little ashamed. 

It would just be so much easier if he went away. Him and his stupid sexy forearms. Bastard. 

"So," Matt says, and waits until you look at him. 

"What?" 

"I've been thinking -"

"Try to refrain from hurting yourself. We do still have a feud going."

"Cute." He smirks and you don't find it endearing at all. _At all._ "Anyway, I've been thinking. You and I? We should fuck."

You can feel your mouth drop open. Since when was Matt Hardy queer?

"We should," he nods, like this is a conversation about the fucking weather. "Not right now, obviously." He pauses, then says, "Well, we could if you want. I'm up for it, but Jeff's just over there and he's told me quite emphatically that if he ever sees me screwing anyone again he's going cut my cock off and then bleach his eyes." He shrugs. "I don't care about him bleaching his eyes, but I'm quite attached to my cock. As cock's go, it's the closest thing to perfection you'll ever find. Besides, I really would like to see you suck it."

Any time your higher brain functions want to start working again will be fine with you. 

He smiles and stands, smacking you on the shoulder again. "Think about it."

And he just walks away like it's nothing. Like you're not sitting there with your mouth open, dick half hard, with the intense urge to drag him from the room by the hair and violate the arrogant fucker. He ambles over to Jeff like he hasn't just told you he takes it up the ass, or that he knows you do. 

You sit for five minutes, doing nothing much aside from stare into space. You watch him wave a goodbye to Jeff as he leaves the room. You watch his ass. 

_Fucker._


End file.
